


We're So Beyond This

by kissoffools



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slash, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissoffools/pseuds/kissoffools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler doesn't want to think about his attraction to Dylan. He doesn't want to give it any thought at all, actually, because he knows that once he does, he won't be able to stop. And that's when things get messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're So Beyond This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siobhan_Schuyler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/gifts).



Tyler doesn't want to think about his attraction to Dylan.

He just doesn't. He works with the guy, after all, and he's heard nothing but horror stories about couples that met at work and the messy, messy fallout from their breakups. Tyler doesn't want to be the guy who has to avoid one on one time with his costar, the one who makes things awkward for everyone else he works with. Tyler likes to keep things simple. So he goes about his business, shoots his scenes with Dylan as if there's nothing else on his mind but his lines and the blocking. As if he doesn't want to shove Dylan up against a wall and kiss him until he's breathless, as if he hasn't wanted to do that ever since they met at the first table read almost three years ago.

And usually that works out pretty well for him.

Then again, they aren't usually drinking together, alone, at the bar down the street from Dylan’s house.

"You fucking suck at darts, man," Dylan says, tilting his head back and downing the rest of his beer. Tyler rolls his eyes, trying not to let his gaze rest on the line of Dylan's neck.

"S'not my fault. I think the board's moving."

Dylan barks out a laugh. "You suck at darts, _and_ you suck at excuses."

"You're so mean to me. It's like you forget I kicked your ass at pool like an hour ago," Tyler says, setting down his remaining darts on the table. What's the point? He's lost every round they've played. And he's pretty sure he's at the point where alcohol and sharp pointy objects flying through the air might become a problem.

"I told you, I have a handicap!"

"Holding the pool cue wrong is not a handicap."

"I wasn't holding it wrong!" Dylan argues. He sets down his empty pint glass and strides towards the pool table. It's late, near last call by now, and the bar has mostly emptied out. A few stragglers sit near the bartender and talk about the game on TV, but everyone else has gone home for the night. No one's paying any attention to Dylan as he grabs a pool cue off the wall and bends over the table with it, showing off his stance.

Except Tyler. Tyler's definitely paying attention.

"See?" Dylan says, lining up as if he was going to take a shot. "Perfect form!"

"Your elbow's not high enough," Tyler says, and before he really thinks things through, he's setting down his drink as well and moving closer to Dylan. "Here, like this." He stands behind him, fingers gently under Dylan's elbow as he lifts it up just slightly. 

"Feels weird," Dylan says, his voice a little quieter now. Less insistent. 

"It's cause you're not used to it." Tyler's hands move down Dylan's sides, as if he can't help himself, and settle on his hips, squaring them up to the table. "Don't angle yourself. The ball won't go the way you want it to if you do that."

And somehow they've wound up basically reenacting a cheesy pool table scene from just about any romantic comedy in the world. If the whole thing didn't feel so incredibly unfunny, Tyler would laugh. Tyler's hands have pushed aside the hem of Dylan's shirt just slightly, and Dylan's skin is warm underneath his fingertips. There's a haze in the room, and Tyler isn't sure if it's from the alcohol or the contact. 

There's a line here, somewhere, and Tyler's starting to think he might have crossed it.

"Right," Dylan says, almost breathlessly. "Got it."

And then he's twisting around in Tyler's arms and kissing him.

Tyler doesn't know if it's the alcohol or the warmth, the low light in the bar or the late hour, but he's kissing Dylan back for all he's worth. His hands wrap around Dylan's waist, pulling their bodies flush together, and he feels a gasp die in his throat as Dylan's tongue slides along his. He isn't thinking anymore, not thinking anything but _yes_ and _good_ and _more_ , and Tyler would push him down right here on this pool table if he wasn't vaguely aware of this little scene not being private. When they break apart for air, Tyler's hands slide over Dylan's arms to keep him close.

"You wanna get out of here?" Tyler pants. His breathing is ragged and his voice is low, and he can't stop staring at the flush of Dylan's cheeks.

Dylan licks his lips and nods, desire evident in his eyes. "Please."

***

By the time they stumble back to Dylan's apartment, the alcohol's really set in and they're both sloppy on rum and beer and too many shots of tequila. Tyler's hands are on Dylan the second the front door closes, pulling him in for playful kisses as Dylan tries to kick his shoes off without tripping and knocking them both to the floor.

Dylan's giggling - "laughing quietly!" he'd argue, but Tyler has hung out with a lot of flirtatious girls and the sounds Dylan is making are definitely giggles - as Tyler guides him across the living room, his mouth sliding down his neck and across his shoulder.

"We gotta be quiet," he says, too loudly. "Posey could come home any minute."

"Screw Posey," Tyler says, and he relishes the little yelp he gets when he picks Dylan up and carries him back into the bedroom.

"What the fuck, you're strong!"

The corner of Tyler's mouth quirks upwards. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Dylan's hands run up Tyler's arms. "Nuh uh."

Their shirts go fast, left crumpled on the floor somewhere between the door and the bed, and although Tyler kind of likes things neat and tidy he figures he'll worry about it later. Because right now his head is humming and Dylan's writhing underneath him, hips pressing upwards as Tyler kisses a sloppy trail down his chest, and he doesn't really have the desire to focus on anything else right now.

"Tease," Dylan pants when Tyler's fingers play at his thighs, and Tyler nips at his hipbone in response.

"I'll show you a tease."

The noise Dylan makes when Tyler finally, _finally_ stops kissing his thighs and slides his mouth around him may just be the hottest thing Tyler's ever heard. 

And then it's all heat and gasps and shivers, and a part of Tyler can't help but wonder, _where has this been all my life?_

***

Tyler isn't sure what he's expecting when he runs into Dylan on set for the first time since their night together. Part of him thinks it'll be awkward - maybe they'll blush and the conversation will be stilted and it'll be obvious to everyone in the room that something's different. But Dylan just grins at him from the makeup chair and offers him his bag of Doritos, and Tyler takes one and Dylan brings up Sunday's Dodgers game, and it's just like nothing's changed at all.

And maybe it hasn't.

Tyler isn't sure how he feels about that. 

The rest of the week passes as usual. He and Dylan joke around; they hang out with their castmates. Everything is easy and relaxed - no drama, no weird tension. They don't talk about what happened, but there's no feeling of avoidance swirling around them. It's almost as if it never happened. As if Tyler made up the entire thing in his mind. 

But then they make out in Tyler's car after they wrap on Friday, hurried and frantic and like they can't get enough of each other, and when it's all done, Dylan claps him on the shoulder and says, "See you, dude!" He walks away from the car with a spring in his step, leaving Tyler behind, and it's official. Tyler has no idea what's going on at all.

***

"You know, this is awesome."

"Hm?"

"This," Dylan says as gets to his feet and tugs his boxers up again. "Getting off with someone totally hot and not worrying that it means anything."

They're in Dylan's trailer in between shots, waiting for the grips to adjust the key light for the millionth time that night. Tyler's completely naked on Dylan's couch, and his eyes can't help but follow the movement of Dylan's hips and the curve of his back as he pads off to the bathroom. They've been doing this for two weeks now, kissing and fucking and teasing and laughing and having what Tyler thinks is a pretty damn great time together. But Tyler keeps finding himself wanting to brush back Dylan's hair, keeps thinking about wrapping his arms around Dylan's waist when they're finished and holding him until he falls asleep. 

And that's all well and good, Tyler thinks. Unless the person you're hooking up with isn't thinking the same thing.

"Yeah," he echoes, sitting up and finding his shirt. "Awesome."

He hopes Dylan is too busy peeing to catch the sadness in his tone.

***

Tyler isn't expecting his phone to ring at a quarter to two in the morning. He's basically in bed, lights out and everything, and has to fumble around for his cell before the call ends. He almost drops it, panicking for a split second before he has it securely in his palm.

"Hello?"

"What'd I do, catch you jacking off or something?"

"What?" Tyler scrubs a hand over his face. "Dylan?"

"It took you ages to answer," Dylan's voice says, and Tyler can hear the teasing grin he must be wearing on the other end. "Did I interrupt? I can help you out if you want…"

"I was sleeping, dumbass."

"Shit, sorry," Dylan says. There's a moment of silence that stretches longer than Tyler thinks is strictly normal.

"Did you… call for a reason?" he finally hedges.

"Oh!" Dylan starts. "Uh. Did you… d'you remember our call time tomorrow?"

Tyler yawns. "It's in like six hours," he says. "They emailed it to us tonight."

"Oh shit, yeah, you're right." There's another pause. "Yeah, here's the email. Sorry about that, man, I didn't really need to call you, I guess."

Tyler couldn't help but smile a little at that, because he'd answer the phone if it was four am and he had to be up at five, if Dylan was on the other end. "It's all good."

"Cool."

The silence this time stretches longer than the last, but it's easier. It doesn't feel like anticipation; it feels like comfort. Tyler closes his eyes and keeps the phone pressed to his ear, listening to the soft rise and fall of Dylan's breath on the other end. They don't say anything for awhile, but they don't have to. The company, somehow, is enough. 

But finally a yawn slips past Tyler's lips, and stifling it doesn't seem to work. It's broken the spell, and he can hear Dylan chuckle on the other end of the line. "I should go, man. It's really late, and you sound tired."

"Sorry," Tyler says, another smile crossing his lips. "I'll see you tomorrow though."

"Yeah, dude, for sure."

There's a slight rustle on the other end of the line, as if Dylan's moving the phone to hang up, and all of a sudden Tyler feels his chest seize up. He can't waste this. He can't let him put down the phone. "Dylan?"

Another rustle. "Yeah buddy?"

The words are there, right on the tip of Tyler's tongue. _You're incredible_ and _I don't want to do this with anyone else_ and _I'm into you_ all clamour at his throat, begging to be let out. But instead, he shuts his eyes and says, "Get some sleep."

He can hear Dylan's smile on the other end of the line. "You too, man. Night."

If Tyler keeps this up much longer, he's going to go out of his mind.

"Night."

***

Saturday nights are some of Tyler's favourites. It's one of the only times they never have to worry about doing an overnight - he's pretty sure _no Saturdays_ is actually built into Jeff's contract. And that works just fine for him - it's become the one night of the week where he can make plans in advance, without worrying if work will run late and cut into them. Sometimes he goes to the batting cages, sometimes he stays in and watches movies with his roommate.

And sometimes he goes out with the other cast members.

They’re out at the bar, the one that JR and Ian and Jill usually visit on Friday nights after work, or Sunday afternoons if they’re bored. Dylan had asked Tyler to grab drinks, and Tyler doesn't really trust himself alone around Dylan and alcohol. Not when he's trying to suppress his feelings. So he asks JR to join them, who gets Jill and Ian on board in a matter of minutes. Then Jill texts Posey and promises to help slip him drinks since he can’t buy them on his own, and the next thing Tyler knows, they’re all heading to the bar. It’ll be great, he thinks. They rarely go out like this, in one giant group. Not unless it’s for an event. It’ll be fun.

_Fun_ turns out to be a bit of an understatement.

Holland’s out on the makeshift dance floor with Colton, grinding in a way she probably wouldn’t have four drinks ago, and Crystal and Daniel are off in some conversation of their own, completely ignoring everyone else. Tyler thinks he sees their knees nudge together once or twice, and he raises his eyebrows over his rum and coke. That’ll be interesting. 

“Dudes!” Posey hollers from beside him, quite likely screwing up his eardrum. “This is the best! We don’t go out enough. And Jill, Jill is my saviour. She’s like my princess. My booze-wielding princess. Jill! I love you!” He clambers overtop of Dylan to get out of the booth, and is two seconds away from falling on his face when Dylan tugs him upright.

“Okay, buddy,” Dylan says, hoisting him up a little. “I think it’s time we head home.”

But Posey’s still waving his arms around, yelling about Jill and alcohol and his new shoes, for some reason, and he’s not exactly making it easy for Dylan to get him across the bar towards the door.

“Here,” Tyler says, sliding out of the booth and putting an arm around the other side of Posey. He and Dylan practically frog-march him out into the April evening, and he gets goosebumps from the nip in the air when his bare arm brushes up against Dylan’s.

It's totally from the air. Probably.

“Thanks for the help,” Dylan says once they have Posey happily sprawled across the backseat of his own car. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Anytime,” Tyler says. “Get home safe, all right?”

"You got it." 

And then Dylan leans forward and kisses him.

It's not a long kiss - it's no passionate embrace, nothing deep and lingering. It's just a quick brush of their lips together, the briefest contact, and when Dylan steps back again, Tyler's mind is reeling. They'd been keeping everything a secret, and Posey was right there. Granted, he was happily in his own little booze-filled world, but the guy had eyes. Surely he'd seen. And they just didn't do this - soft goodnight kisses in the parking lot. They fucked and they sucked and they gave each other bruises, and that was all Dylan wanted. 

Wasn't it?

There's a little smile on Dylan's face when he says "Goodnight," and heads back towards his car. Tyler watches Posey chatter away at Dylan the second the car door closes, but Tyler can't tell if it's about him or not. Dylan just starts up the car, backs out of the space, and heads off for home with a little wave. 

When Tyler heads back inside the bar, his lips are tingling.

***

The first person Tyler runs into on Monday morning is Posey. He's slumped in a chair near the craft table, coffee clutched in his hands, and he kind of looks like he woke up ten minutes before driving to set. Not that the look is an unusual one for him.

"How was your day yesterday?" Tyler asks, dropping down into a chair beside him.

Posey presses two fingers to his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. "I woke up still drunk yesterday," he says, "so what's that tell you?"

Tyler chuckles, remembering likely better than Posey does how much booze he put back in such a short period of time. "You're lucky you don't have that much to shoot today."

"I'd be luckier if I had the day off."

Tyler claps him on the shoulder good-naturedly. "Welcome to the real world, my friend," he says, and the middle finger Posey juts in his direction only makes Tyler laugh again. Posey rests his head in his hands, and the longer Tyler sits there with him, the more convinced he is that Posey's fallen asleep.

It isn't until Tyler's called away to makeup that Posey opens his eyes again and speaks up.

"Tell him," he says, and Tyler pauses.

"What?"

Posey turns his gaze in Tyler's direction. "I saw your face on Saturday, even though you both apparently think that when I get drunk I spend the whole time walking around with my eyes closed," he says, rolling his eyes and then wincing from the effort. "Stop being such a dickweed, man up, and tell the guy already. It'll go okay." 

Tyler raises his eyebrows. "When did you start being so perceptive?"

"I've always been perceptive, dude," Posey says, the side of his mouth quirking upwards into a half-smile. "I just don't usually give a shit about what I'm perceiving."

***

"Why'd you kiss me on Saturday night?"

Tyler spends the entire day thinking about Posey's advice. He spends hours turning it over in his mind, weighing the pros and cons, and trying not to look like he's going through some serious self-evaluation when he sits across from Dylan at lunchtime. He plays out every possible scenario in his head on loop like a record, analyzing each one until he realizes he's very likely going crazy and might as well just get the whole fucking thing out in the open and over with.

And now he's here in the doorway of Dylan's trailer, and Dylan's half changed to head home for the day and gaping at him.

"What?" Tyler almost thinks he spots a fleeting panic in Dylan's eyes.

Tyler shoves his hands in his pockets, trying not to look big and demanding. "Why'd you kiss me on Saturday? After the bar, with Posey there in the car?"

"Oh," Dylan says, and Tyler's positive now that there are two small spots of colour on Dylan's cheeks that weren't there before. He shrugs. "I wanted to."

"You wanted to."

"Yeah, I wanted to. I kiss you all the time, so what's it matter?" Dylan's fumbling around with his bag now, and if Tyler isn't mistaken, Dylan's avoiding his gaze. Frustration builds inside of him. What the fuck is Dylan's problem?

"No, nuh-uh. You talk about how cool it is, getting off without any attachments, and then you call me in the middle of the friggin' night with some lame excuse. You kiss me in public to say goodnight. You say one thing and do another, and I just want to know what the fuck is going on!" 

Dylan’s whole face is pink now.

"Because I'm crazy about you, all right? Jesus, you don't have to yell."

Tyler knows that, in the future, he'll analyze this moment to death. He'll replay Dylan's words and remember his body language, take in the blush and the lack of eye contact and figure out what it all means and wonder how he was ever unsure of it all before. But that, Tyler knows, is for later.

Because right now, Tyler takes three steps to close the distance between them, pulls Dylan into his chest, and kisses him hard. 

His hands are in Dylan's hair and he can feel Dylan's fingers running over his shoulders, his back, his sides, as if he's trying to take in all of him at once. The angle of their heads adjusts as the kiss deepens, as their tongues slide together, and Tyler feels his knees go a little weak when Dylan whimpers into his mouth. Tyler pulls him a little closer, wanting to feel every part of his body against his own, and when he pulls away to drop kisses along Dylan's jaw and neck, he can feel the other boy smile.

"So… does this mean you're into me, too?" Dylan asks, a little breathless.

Tyler grins against his skin, scraping his teeth over Dylan's shoulder. "Just a little bit."

"Oh, good," Dylan chuckles, and warm hands slide up Tyler's back, inching his shirt upwards.

They wind up on that damn couch again, shirts and pants long forgotten on the trailer floor. They've done this countless times before, but it all feels sharp and electric to Tyler this time. Knowing that he has Dylan - that Dylan won't get up and walk away after this, that Dylan wants him too - makes everything feel different. New. Better.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?" Tyler breathes, hands sliding over Dylan's hipbones as he settles Dylan into his lap. He's hard and leaking against his stomach, and every little fidget of Dylan on top of him sends little sparks down his spine. He kisses the underside of Dylan's chin, indulging and nuzzling the warm skin there.

Dylan rolls his eyes as if the words are ridiculous, but Tyler can see the grin on his face. He knows that look. He knows exactly how happy Dylan is when he smiles like that. "Shut up and fuck me," Dylan says.

So Tyler does.

And when they're finished, when their skin is flushed and damp with sweat, Tyler wraps his arms around Dylan's waist and lies them down together. They fit together, Tyler's knees tucked up under the backs of Dylan's legs, and he kisses beneath Dylan's ear as his eyes fall shut. They can worry about logistics, about work and their friends and figuring things out so that none of these things get messy, tomorrow. For now, it's just the two of them, curled up together with smiles on their faces.

And it's all Tyler's ever wanted.

 

_end._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this, Marie-Claude! Teen Wolf RPF is a new fandom for me that I've been wanting to dabble in for awhile, so I'm glad you gave me the opportunity to do so.
> 
> Many thanks go out to the several sets of eyes that helped me out with this story. You guys are the best.


End file.
